


Love (Our Weapon of Choice)

by beingxwest



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, Cazriel, Emotional Whump, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, This broke my heart to write, guys i'm serious rhys is really clueless + mor and amren are queens who see it, mor and amren know what's up, mor ships this really hard and you can't change my mind, protective illyrians, rhys has no idea, there's a happy ending i swear, these boys really need a hug, they're really in love and they finally admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingxwest/pseuds/beingxwest
Summary: Cassian accidentally confesses his feelings to Azriel, and then, sure that Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, flies off – and promptly gets himself captured by Ennoth, a monster with the ability to induce pure fear in anyone or anything he so chooses. The Inner Circle, including an Azriel who has had 8 days to beat himself up about this, and prepare the lecture that Cassian will be getting from him on account of his stupidity (”How could you just fly away like that? What were you thinking?”), finds Cassian half-dead in Ennoth’s castle, where Ennoth’s magic wreaks plenty of havoc on all of them, too.OR Cassian and Azriel are really in love, and somehow it takes this entire disaster for them to confess. And for Rhys to figure all of it out.(there's a happy ending, I swear, it just doesn't start out that way; Rhys is really oblivious; written for #badthingshappenbingo on tumblr: prompt was 'supernatural fear inducer'.)





	Love (Our Weapon of Choice)

**Author's Note:**

> This actually broke my heart to write, but, hey, it is what it is. This is the first fic I've ever written for these characters or this fandom, so I would love some feedback! I hope you enjoy!

Azriel has seen a lot in his life. He's never seen anything like this.

There are days when he worries that his job will strip him of the last of his humanity. That one day, the blood won't register with him, the cruelty won't matter, the atrocity won't tug on something inside him. It clearly hasn't happened yet, though, because his stomach is churning from the sight of it.

That's new. He hasn't felt that one in quite a while - while his job is bloody and difficult and even, from time to time, immoral, he hasn't felt this nauseous, unsure feeling in so many years that he's forgotten what it feels like.

"Az," a voice says from behind him. "Az, we have to go."

He hears the voice, but he almost doesn't register that they're talking to him. He doesn't turn around, he doesn't need to - he knows perfectly well who it is, knows what he's talking about and that he's right, but he can't be bothered to turn around.

He can't be bothered to do much of anything over the ringing in his ears.

It drowns out even his shadows. That says something, too - that hasn't happened since he was a kid, young enough that he'd still been learning to control it, to control himself.

The ringing in his ears gives way to this, though, and it doesn't sound like his shadows either: _this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault._

It is his fault.

He never should've been such a dumbass.

Rhysand is suddenly standing beside him. He jumps - he's not used to not knowing the every move of everyone around him, and it startles him that Rhys manages to get across the wrecked room (the place is an absolute disaster - there's blood everywhere, the furniture is all turned around and upside down, and when they got here a few minutes ago, they had to put out a fire that appeared to have been started by a candle that had gotten too close to a pair of curtains when a table had been broken in half) without him hearing it.

"Sorry," Rhys whispers, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Az nods. He knows Rhys didn't mean to - how would Rhys know that Az feels like the world has fallen out from underneath his feet? How would Rhys have realized that Az wasn't paying attention?

That's not Rhys's fault.

"We need to get out of here, brother," Rhys repeats. His hands are on his hips, and he's standing with his shoulders back and his feet apart. Anger seems to seep off of him in a way that has even Az's shadows moving away and twisting around Az's other side.

Rhys notices, takes a deep breath, and the near-tangible anger dissipates all at once. He's got incredible control over his emotions.

Az doesn't have that. His insides are a disaster. His heart is going to war with his head - _burn the place to the ground just to prove your point_ versus _get the hell out of here, don't be stupid_ \- and he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to regain control over that part of himself.

"Hey, guys," Mor calls from down the hall. "Come back here."

Rhys leads the way down the corridor. The house isn't huge, but there are quite a few rooms to check, so they'd split up when they'd gotten here. Mor and Amren had taken the back of the place, mostly because Rhys had wanted to check out the trail of blood that led from the door to the living room.

It doesn't take long to find the room that Mor is standing in. Even from the doorway, Az can see the tension in Mor's shoulders - her hands are shaking, even fisted together, and she's pacing around the room with a lethal grace. She's almost as angry as Rhys is - it comes off of her in waves, like a bright, burning light spreading to each corner of the room. Az wonders if, left unchecked, that light could make it's way out of the house and then all the way to Cassian.

If that light could find him and bring him home before Azriel loses his mind.

Amren is leaned up against the wall just around the corner. Rhys takes a step around Az and into the room, not bothering to look over to where Amren is brooding. "What is it, Mor?"

Mor says nothing, just points to the wall a few feet in front of her. The light is dim enough in the room that Az begins to wonder how she can actually see something so far in front of her. The only light in the room is what's coming through the window on the wall adjacent to the one Mor is staring at, but it doesn't quite reach far enough to illuminate the wall.

Azriel is reminded of his theory - maybe that metaphorical ferocious, angry light pouring off of her is what's helping her see.

"Az, come have a look at this."

It isn't an order, but it is something to do with himself that isn't stand in the hallway like he has no idea what he's doing. He stumbles a bit at first, and then stops, cursing himself for so badly losing control of himself. He's supposed to be better than that.

Once he's standing beside Rhys, he can see what had gotten Mor's attention. A piece of parchment, nailed to the wall. He can't read what it says from where he's standing, but there's a spot of blood on the corner, and Azriel isn't stupid. "A ransom note," he whispers.

Rhys nods. He doesn't say anything.

Mor turns on her heel and walks out of the room, her shoes clicking as she goes. She clicks her tongue as she hits the doorway. Az doesn't need to turn to see the way she must be shaking her head, the blood drained from her face in shock, the way her hands are shaking from stifling the urge to hit something.

To kill whomever is responsible.

Azriel's heart makes it's way to his toes. Mor is not so easily sent to close to the brink. For her to be so upset, the threat is clearly not one he's imagining. It is definitely as bad as it seems.

He knows it's stupid. He's done this so many times - he'd conducted investigations of this nature for Rhys's father when they were younger, and then, after Rhys became High Lord, the entirety of the Court of Nightmares seemed to fall into a wild fight for power. They'd kidnapped and captured and hurt and tortured anyone they could reach, anyone they thought that they could get a drop of power or influence in return for.

The difference here is that the Court of Nightmares cares about their children and families the way that Azriel might care about a blunt knife - it can be useful, so it's not really worth just throwing away, but it's not important enough for him to get too wound up about it's absence, because he can always get himself a new one.

(Or, of course, _Cassian_ will get him a new one - Cassian brings Az new knives the way some males... Well, Az doesn't really know, but Cassian is always giving him new weapons. Blades and knives and anything that might be useful for protecting himself or getting shit done.)

"What do they want?" Amren calls from the hallway. Her voice sounds empty, nearly hollow, and Az decides that he may have to reconsider how he feels about her. Her footsteps are silent as she steps into the room. "What are they asking for?"

Rhys rips the note off of the wall. He reads it over once, then again, and then another time, his eyes flicking back and forth in a way that is more panicked than Azriel likes to see him.

It must be going around these days - Azriel's hands are starting to shake. He shoves them into his pockets. He's better than this, more experienced, and he can't believe that -

"There must have been another kidnapping in the Court of Nightmares." His voice is near-empty. The note is being crumpled in his grasp. "They want one of the younger sons, but it says 'back', so I'm guessing that they've been taken."

From the mouth of the room, Amren deadpans, "Then I guess we'll have to go find this guy."

If Cassian was there, he'd come up with a quip about how they should all be getting overtime for having to work on a weekend. He'd be busy railing about how he wasn't going to be spending the night in a bed belonging to some girl he's never met. He'd be cracking jokes about how someone obviously got their ass kicked in this house - or, at least, he would've been until they found the ransom note. He'd stop insulting the missing person at least long enough for them to be found.

But, no matter how he did it, Cassian would be keeping them on their toes. He'd be distracting them from how awful the blood and the gore and the violence that must have happened here is.

Maybe that's why it seems so much worse - Cassian isn't there to lighten the mood.

Or maybe it's because Cassian's the one that's missing.

"Little problem with that," Mor shouts from somewhere else down the hall. "Come in here!"

Her voice sounds high-pitched in a too-familiar way by the time she's done talking. Az realizes, feeling even more like shit, that she probably left the room to steal a few relative seconds of peace - she hates crying in front of them, won't do it, period, end of sentence.

And they let her walk out of here alone to go sob in a different dark room.

He doesn't really have the energy to be more than a little pissed at himself. He hates that, because he cares about her so much, he really does, but without Cassian there... Az barely knows how to take a step forward, let alone comfort Mor.

And he shouldn't stop, he knows that. Mor needs to find Cassian. So does Rhys. So does Az - he needs, with everything inside him, everything that he knows, all that he has, to find Cassian.

_Cassian_ needs him to find Cassian - there's no telling what's been done to him. Something inside Az nearly snaps at the thought, because they're both Illyrian bastards in the minds of that devilish court. The males that run it have hated Cassian and Az as long as they've been around to be hated, mostly because of their lineage and what they are and how they ended up being so close to the High Lord even with their being Illyrian bastards.

There's a hand on Az's shoulder, then, and he manages to shove down the urge to flinch just in time. It's just Rhys. His mouth is set into a grim line. His teeth are clenched together. But his eyes are sad as he meets Az's gaze for a few seconds - he knows what effect Cassian's absence, the fact that Cassian is in danger, alone, hurting, like this, and the only thing that they can do is investigate right now, is doing to him.

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe that's a knowing look that just doesn't understand the full scope of things. It's a knowing look that says, _I understand, brother. I, too, would do anything for our brother. I'm thinking about doing something outrageously disproportionate just to prove the point, just like you are._

Rhysand remains silent as he motions for Azriel to follow him. He does, his shadows curling up and swirling down and licking up around his ears and neck protectively.

Amren's eyes flick over his shadows knowingly. She pushes off the wall she was leaning against (not the same one as earlier, no - this one angled her towards the doorway of the room that Mor has disappeared into; Az is glad to know that someone was looking out for Mor, and he thinks again that he might have to reevaluate how much he trusts Amren) and gives him as wide a berth as is possible in the corridor that was so clearly not built for several full-grown adults, let alone Illyrians that take up as much space as he and Rhys do.

Rhys follows Amren into the room that Mor called out from. He sniffs the air and half-recoils automatically, freezing in the doorway for a full second.

The scent hits Az then, too - more blood.

"I think that this might be the guy that they asked for in the note, guys," Mor explains as the three of them enter the room in single-file. Her hands are going everywhere as she speaks, the tremble traded in for being flung through the air as she rushes her words out. "I'm not entirely sure, but he looks familiar, and that name..." She shakes her head vigorously, trailing off at the end. "I think this is him."

Rhys throws Az a look over his shoulder before he crosses the room towards Mor. He has to go around a sizable bed to get there (Az is fairly sure that there's a body on the other side of that bed, even if he can't see it from where he's standing, back not quite against the wall behind him), and he nearly bangs his knee into the foot of the thing. He would've, too, if Amren hadn't coughed loudly enough to draw his attention.

"Thanks," Rhys mutters without looking back again.

Amren doesn't reply, just turns her head and studies the walls of the room like she might find the answers that they so desperately need. She leans herself up against the wall, just about an inch from the doorframe, and balances on one foot so that she can bend her other knee and press her other foot to the wall.

Mor and Rhys study the body, the surrounding room, for any clues as to the male's actual identity. Az is already sure that they won't find much of anything - if none of them recognize him now with any certainty, they probably won't very suddenly figure out where they know him from in a few minutes. But how he died and by who's hand are definitely questions they can find answers to this way, which could be helpful later, so Az keeps his mouth shut.

Cassian, if he were here, would mention getting everyone an I.D. to carry around to keep this from happening again - he wouldn't be totally out there on that one; they've run into this particular issue before, and it could actually be pretty useful if they did it the right way - and getting at least a chuckle out of everyone but Amren, who would roll her eyes in a more-endearing-than-pissed-off way when she thought no one was looking, and a quip back from Rhys.

But Cassian isn't here.

Cassian has been captured by whoever tore this place up (it's clear that they tore the place up with Cassian's help - his scent is on practically everything in the living room, so he certainly got caught up in the showdown that happened there - and the whole damn thing reeks of Cassian's brawling fighting style) and killed the male on the other side of the room. The people responsible have asked for the return of someone who was dead before they got there.

Eventually, Rhys and Mor decide to work off the assumption that the dead male is the one the ransom note asks for. Amren nods her assent while folding her arms over her chest. A full minute doesn't even pass before she cocks her head to the side and asks, "Then what do they really want?"

"Probably just to screw with us," Mor grounds out through gritted teeth. Her nails, freshly painted blood red for a date that she was supposed to be on this evening, tap a rushed pattern over a dressing table.

Az hates it, but he has to admit that she's right - there's no other reason for the people responsible to have pulled a stunt like this. Not giving them any demands is one thing (and it is bad enough) but making their only demand a non-option would've made most people's heads spin around.

But they're not _most people_ , and the assholes responsible for this are going to pay.

Az's hand inches toward the knife in his belt. If they've hurt Cassian in any way, if there is even a single scratch on him... Az will do to them whatever they've done to the male he loves, and then plenty more for good measure.

And then he might consider letting Mor and Rhys kill them. (It would likely take both of them to be at all efficient - Cassian is the most skilled warrior in existence, which means that it certainly would have taken more than one person to get him down.) That would be the merciful thing to do, wouldn't it?

His body reacts to the word _merciful_ like it's some kind of curse. His blood feels like it's boiling in his own body. He doesn't want to be merciful, no - he wants to acquaint the guilty party with each and every blade he owns, and then he wants to rip them to pieces.

"We will find him, Az," Amren whispers from beside him, too low to distract Rhys or Mor from their discussion.

Azriel doesn't reply, but he does look up to meet her gaze for a moment. He raises his eyebrows questioningly, and, almost as if by way of explanation, her eyes flick down to where his hand is squeezing the hilt of his favorite dagger.

He doesn't let go of the jeweled end of his knife, but he does loosen his grip. _You have got to keep it together, Azriel._

Amren turns to look at him without removing her foot from where it is resting against the dark wood paneling. He isn't quite leaning up against the wall the way that she is, so he backs up a hare of a step to hear what she has to say.

"I know that you and Cassian care for each other a great deal, Az, and I assure you that we will find him."

It might be a good thing that Azriel is so out of it - it gives him an excuse to take far too long to process her words, and it keeps him from losing his shit when he realizes what she means.

_She knows._

Az lifts his eyebrows again. It's as close as he will come to asking what she knows and how and how long, and, perhaps kindly, she understands.

She lifts one of her arms from the other so that she can make a tame gesture as she speaks. She leaves the other wrapped around her middle. "The two of you aren't exactly subtle, you know."

Az is fairly sure that that's code for: _I figured it out because I have_ eyes _, you raging prick._

"How long have you known?"

Amren tilts her head from one side to the other, clearly weighing her response. "A while, I suppose." His glare, locked on the side of her face, manages to draw her attention. She tosses him a venomous look, clicks her tongue, but continues nonetheless. "Right after we met, Cassian brought that girl to Rita's, and you nearly lost your shit. And then a few weeks later, there was that fight in the forest, and the two of you looked nearly unhinged until you found each other."

_That doesn't explain why she believes we're lovers,_ Az thinks to himself. _She might not know as much as she thinks she does._

Az, apparently, is both wrong and predictable, though, because Amren seems to have anticipated that line of thinking.

"It also helps that the walls are thin, and neither of you are quiet." Her tone has bite, but it's more teasing than malicious.

Maybe they could be good friends after all.

He's pretty sure that his face is bright red, but he doesn't care. What he has with Cassian is real, and why should he care who knows?

He's a very lucky male, and Cassian deserves to be loved in the light, not just the dark corners and rooms where they're alone or they think no one is watching.

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me about this," Amren starts. There's a note of uncertainty in her voice that Az has never heard before. "But I know that the two of you got into it. So when we find him, you better pull your head out of your ass and be honest with him about how you feel."

"Mor told you to tell me that?"

Az knows good and well that while he was sparring with Rhys, trying to work off how shitty he felt about upsetting Cassian like that, Cassian and Mor were getting shit-faced at Rita's. Rhys had known that something wasn't right, but he also knew better than to push Azriel into telling him something he wasn't ready to share, which left Mor as the only one who could've told Amren what was going on.

"A lady never reveals her sources," Mor says, still across the room. Her usual humor falls flat, and she sounds more choked up and pissed off than anything else, but the ghost of a smile flits across Rhys's face.

There's a beat of silence where Cassian would've normally jumped in: it would've been something like "That means that _Rhys_ can't tell us, Mor, it says nothing about _you._ "

Azriel's chest aches. _Cauldron_ , he wants Cassian.

He wants Cassian beside him, holding his hand, making crude jokes or exasperating him or kissing him until he can't breathe.

He wants to tell him he's sorry, wants to tell him how much he loves him, that he doesn't know what to do with this heart that Cassian managed to get into his chest (at some point, when they were much younger, someone accused him of being heartless, and Cassian, after breaking both the man's arms, had made that their running joke - he had sought to take the bite out of it by making it a joke between them, and Az has never told him this, but he'd thought he was heartless, too, until Cassian started making him laugh) except for give it to him.

"I have an idea." Mor breaks the silence expertly, pulling them all back to a reality none of them want to deal with, but that none of them really have a choice about. "Why don't we try and track him?"

Rhys shakes his head. "I don't think that it'll pan out, Mor. We don't even know where to start."

Amren scoffs. "Do you have a better idea?"

There's another beat of silence, and finally, Rhys replies, "Yeah, okay, that's - where do we start, then?"

-§-

Cassian wakes to a scream, and it takes him a beat too long to realize that it was him.

Something comes down on his skin, maybe even on his wings, stinging, making a loud noise as it makes contact. Cassian grits his teeth against the cry that nearly escapes him. Whoever this is that thinks they can capture a member of his High Lord's Inner Circle and live to talk about it won't have the pleasure of knowing that they're having an effect on him.

"Oh, look at that, he's awake!"

There's a laugh from the opposite side of the room than the voice came from. For some reason, the sound almost sounds like it's coming from below him, not just several feet away from him. It's pitch black, so Cassian can barely see, but he's glad that his hearing is working just fine.

The person who laughed clears their throat. It's a female voice. "I'll go tell his lordship." There's a creak (maybe a piece of furniture?) and then footsteps towards Cassian. "Oh, give him a break, I want to see how he holds up against his lordship. Come with me."

_His lordship,_ Cassian thinks. For an awful moment, it's Rhys that they're talking about, it's Rhys that's done this to him, even though Cassian knows better. Rhys would never do something so unthinkable, so... _No_ , Cassian tells himself. _Don't think like that._

The footsteps get closer, until they're maybe a foot away, and then stop right in front of him.

He can't see them, but he can feel them, hear them breathe. It's a male, not quite his size, more wiry and tall than bulky muscle. He shifts his weight back and forth between his feet.

Not someone he knows. Not Rhys. Not Azriel.

He's not in Illyrian territory, he's not at home in Velaris, he's -

He's hit across the face. He keeps himself from groaning - there must have already been a bruise on his face, because that _hurt_ , and now his cheek is throbbing.

Fear tears through him. What's happened to him? Where is he? Where is everyone else?

Are they there, too? Are they alive?

_What the hell - what the hell - what the hell - what the - ?_

The male's laugh is crueller this time, cutting off his quickly spiraling train of thought. This time, he sounds much closer to him, a couple of feet away from him, but not below him. "Oh, so it's like that? You won't scream for us, oh Lord of Bloodshed?"

The thing from earlier comes down on him again - it's a whip, Cassian realizes. A pitiful whimper escapes him. He'd curse himself if he had more control, but... Everything hurts. His entire body aches, just in general, and then there are the places where the pain is concentrated. He feels more helpless than he's felt in at least a century and a half.

That gets his companions laughing, too. There must be more than one of them, because there's more than one laugh.

Cassian spits out a mouthful of blood. It's too dark to tell if it landed on the male that struck him.

It must've, though, because there's a furious roar, and then there's a strike against his ribs that knocks the wind out of him. It feels like at least one of his ribs was already broken, and the male might have cracked another one for his trouble.

His body goes limp but he doesn't hit the floor, and an awkward pain rips through his shoulders. He squirms a bit until he gets sort of back into the position he was in a moment ago, which is not entirely better, but Cassian suspects that there isn't going to be a comfortable position with this. He must be tied up - his wrists are aching, and it certainly feels like something is wrapped around them. His ankles, too. _They've got me hanging from the ceiling_ , he realizes - the ropes around his wrists holding him up, and the ones around his ankles trapping his feet in place. His wings - oh _Cauldron_ , his _wings_ -

_I can't feel my wings._

A quick look, so fast that his neck aches even more, over both shoulders tells him that they're still there. Of course, the moment he sees them flat against the wall behind him, pulled tight, pain rips through him. It's so awful that his vision blurs, and he feels like he's going to pass out again. There's blood dripping down them, as there must be in other places on his body, but Cauldron, those are his _wings_.

Those are his wings, and there are arrows - _ash_ , he realizes, another jolt of raw terror and pain shooting through him, making his toes curl, those are _ash arrows_ \- stabbed through both of them. From what he can tell, the arrows have been shoved in about six or seven inches above the exact center of each of his wings. _Maybe not permanent damage, then,_ he tells himself. He has to swallow hard around a sob.

It hurts _so much_.

There's another cackle. "It hurts, doesn't it? I bet you're scared."

The fear choking Cassian up intensifies for a second and he can't breathe. It dies down and he gasps for breath, everything in his body tensing again. Something is wrong, but he can't figure out what.

"Look at this. The terrifying _Lord of Bloodshed_ , scared half to death."

The male tosses his head back and laughs cruelly. He shakes his head, then, and turns on his heel. He fades from Cassian's sight and into the darkness after a few seconds, but Cassian can still hear his footsteps.

There's a loud squeak that feeds into the pounding of his skull. It sounds like a door. Maybe they're inside somewhere, if there's a door. Or maybe they're keeping Cassian outside, and the male was going inside.

Either way, he hears the door shut, and as soon as it does, the fear drains out of him like it was never there. His whole body aches, and everything hurts, but that horrible fear is gone.

Well, he realizes after a few seconds, not gone. Receded, definitely, and less than before, when the male was right up in his face. But it's still there, in the back of his mind, waiting to overtake him. Eating at him. Worming it's way through the rest of him.

Cassian takes a deep breath. His chest hurts with the simple movement, like he's being ripped apart from the inside out. _How many of my ribs are messed up?_

A breeze suddenly makes him shiver, momentarily distracting him from the wing-situation, and he looks down to find, horror coursing through him, that he's been relieved of his clothing while he was unconscious.

He shivers again. Wherever they've taken him, it's freezing. Full-grown Illyrians are usually open-flame-way-too-close-to-you warm, because of their body mass and the Illyrian magic within them. He doesn't think he's been this cold (or truly, decently cold at all, for that matter) since he was a child - he had to fight for anything that would keep him warm, and there was a bit of a learning curve with that. Even on missions or trips to the Winter Court, Rhys has always found a way to make sure that they're all warm and safe.

Now that he's obviously neither of those things, and there's blood dripping down his face from the male's strike, and he's likely bleeding from the whip they woke him with, he misses his brother's calm way of making sure that everyone is taken care of.

(This is not a useful train of thought, but if he thinks of anything else, the fear that lurks in the back of his mind might well and truly overwhelm him. If this is the only means by which he can keep calm, so be it. He can come up with a plan after he's gotten control of himself - soothed his racing heart, the tension in his muscles, the dizziness that's starting to come over him.)

He wishes they were here. Obviously, not here the way that he is, but just... Just here, somehow, if a thing like that were possible. It's incredibly selfish of him, and he hates the little part of him that's so afraid and alone that it doesn't care. If they were here, they could tell him what to do. He's a battlefield genius, sure, but the small things - getting out of the tinier, more delicate situations - are beyond him. Rhys and Mor... they would know what to do.

He has no idea how long he's been gone, but he aches for home, for something familiar, for the people he cares about. For a pair of familiar arms that he's pretty sure don't even want him in their grasp.

(It's pathetic. It's also just his luck. He's the commander of the forces of the Night Court, a member of the High Lord's Inner Circle, and commonly referred to as the 'Lord of Bloodshed'. He could have any female - and quite a few males, too - that he wanted, and the one time he really lose-his-shit falls head-over-heels in love with someone, they don't love him back.)

That might be a little overdramatic, sure. Azriel cares about him, of course, they've fought side by side for centuries now - _of course_ he cares about him. But he doesn't care about Cassian the way that Cassian cares about him.

They've known each other for most of their lives. They've been together for so long that the leap from carefully bumping shoulders after a fight to making out to take their collective edge off (the battles were one thing, but sometimes, when they were home right after a particularly bad fight, they'd get so antsy and reared up for another one that they had to find a way to spend their energy, and somehow, they discovered that another kind of physical activity worked just as well) hadn't seemed like much. They'd never had sex, not before a few days ago, and, from the look of things, Azriel hadn't meant for it to mean anything.

He'd been using Cassian. And that was fair, really, because that was how it started. They're best friends, blood-brothers, everything to one another. So of course it made sense that they would turn to each other like that. That didn't mean that it _meant_ anything. Cassian really doesn't have the room to be offended - they'd been using each other. It had been mutual using, in Az's mind. Hell, it had started out as mutual using.

Until it hadn't been for Cassian. Until their random kisses in dark hallways (often after tense meetings with the Illyrian lords that left Cassian and Azriel ready to go to blows with whomever had been foolish enough to offend Rhysand, and left Rhys unsure of how to make his people listen to him without seeing him as a monster, because how else do you make change?) started to be more than a way to get rid of the tension and became more because he liked the way that Az's lips felt, liked the way that Az's hands felt on his arms, on his chest, on his back.

Cassian shakes his head. He needs to be thinking of how he's supposed to get the hell out of here, not lamenting his huge dumbass failure with his love life.

Besides, now that he can almost think properly, he needs to make use of it. There's no telling what that male did to him - that fear is not organic, it is not something that he allows himself to fall into like that, and he knows that it's not entirely real - but he needs to work out his escape plan before the male gets back. There's no telling if he'll have a chance to again.

The first obstacle will be getting off of this wall and free of these ropes. It'll be excruciating to pull those arrows out of his wings, but that's the only way he's getting down. He tugs on the ropes around his wrists experimentally, gritting his teeth around the cry of pain that that draws out of him. It comes out as a high-pitched whine, which Cassian supposes is better than a real scream. He won't give these assholes the pleasure of getting a reaction out of him.

Once the pain recedes enough for him to evaluate the give on the ropes, he knows that he won't be able to get down without at least one other pair of hands. If it was just the ropes, maybe, but the way that they have him positioned, he won't be able to get out of them without a knife, which he probably won't be able to put to the ropes with any degree of precision with the way his hands are feeling. Not to mention the fact that he's several feet off of the ground - even if he could get himself free, there's a considerable drop between him and the ground. After that, there's those arrows to contend with. Cassian is sure that they are to incapacitate him and keep him from getting away - they can't leave him there. It wouldn't make much sense at all.

_I'll get back to that later_ , he decides. _The first problem is definitely going to be getting down._

They'll have to get him down eventually, won't they? Even if the ropes were gone... The arrows would be enough. They're small enough that they probably haven't done a horrible amount of damage to his wings - Illyrian wings are so sensitive that the pain he feels likely doesn't mean serious injury. Still, he won't risk trying to fly away anyway, because there is a decent potential for shredding his wings on those arrows. The thought of that alone makes him shudder, which sends another stab of pain through his wings and ribs alike.

When they get him down - they will have to, at some point, he's sure - he might be able to make a break for it. The ash arrows will keep his wings from healing, but they'll probably leave the arrows in their respective wounds when they pull him down anyway, so that doesn't really matter. Cassian winces as he anticipates the pain in his near future. If anything, the arrows being left in might keep him from bleeding to death before he can get home.

Back to the point about them having to get him down: obviously, they want something. He doesn't know who's responsible, but he knows that there are few people stupid enough or desperate enough (or that terrifying combination of both) to try this with a member of the High Lord of the Night Court's Inner Circle. Whoever they are, they must want something, though, which means that they've probably left a ransom note for Rhys and the others.

He remembers getting his ass kicked in that cabin. He'd been holding his own for a good few minutes, but the prick he'd been dueling had managed to somehow summon some backup, and Cassian had fallen quickly against the group of males. They'd totally handed his ass to him.

It wasn't exactly because they were stronger than him. They weren't, he's confident of that much. But he was weak, after not having slept for a good three or four days, and the fact that he'd been putting his body through so much in that time surely hadn't helped him. He was exhausted, practically seeing double and stumbling around like he was drunk off his ass even though, by that point, he'd been perfectly sober.

He'd also had a raging hangover. He remembers leaving Azriel, who'd still been lying in the bed were they'd... done it, He'd quickly pulled on his clothes, and then raced out of the house like the place was on fire. He'd been humiliated, and he'd flown himself for longer than he normally would've dared when he was by himself, and then he'd finally found a pub to waste away in for the evening.

And he had. Cassian must've been so drunk that he'd flown from there and fallen out of the air (he has the most bizarre memory of tumbling through a thick of trees in the middle of the night and rolling down a hill). He doesn't even remember getting to the cabin that he'd woken up in and then been taken from.

_Rhys is going to kick my ass._ Cassian relaxes his muscles as much as he dares - there's no point in staying so tense, not when it requires so much energy from him, but he has to be careful not to allow himself to relax so much that he puts more weight on his wings - but it doesn't allow for a whole lot of improvement. Everything still hurts. _He's going to kick my ass, and I totally deserve it._

Cassian knows he was stupid, doing all of that shit. He was heartbroken - he is _still_ heartbroken, but it's too hard to think about - but even so, he was reckless. He got himself into this mess.

A terrified feeling lodges itself in his stomach like a rock. What if they know he got himself into this by doing all of that stupid stuff, and they decide that he's getting what's coming to him? They wouldn't do that, would they? Just leave him here on his own because of how reckless he was?

_No, no, they would never do that. We're family._ Even in his mind, his words are panicked and rushed together, crashing into one another. He knows better than that, he knows that they will come for him, that it'll be okay. He trusts them. He loves them.

They love him.

They would never just leave him to suffer like that. Never.

Not Rhys, who's saved him from so much. Not Mor, who's been there for him for centuries, lifting him up when the world falls apart. Not Amren, who pretends not to care, but who's sarcasm covers up a fierce need to protect the rest of the Inner Circle that could probably tear the world to bits.

And most certainly not Azriel, who -

Who doesn't love Cassian the way that Cassian loves him, but who loves him nonetheless. Even after Cassian probably wrecked things between them for the next solid ten years or so, Az is still his best friend, and Cassian can't imagine Azriel leaving him to die, no matter how humiliating that morning-after was.

(It was definitely humiliating, that's for sure. Cassian had woken up slowly that morning, soft light seeping in through the closed curtains of his own bedroom, to find Azriel still lying beside him. Az was wide awake, staring at him with gentle eyes. One of his hands was outstretched towards Cassian, almost like he'd been reaching for him. Their eyes had met and they'd shared a moment of quiet laughter. Az's hand had eventually found it's way to it's destination - Cassian's cheek - where his thumb had moved back and forth over Cassian's cheekbone and then brushed over his closed eyelid.

Cassian had been so at peace, so full of happiness he'd felt as if he would burst, and he'd just whispered, "I love you, Azriel." It would've been perfectly romantic if Az had said it back, but he'd only stared at Cassian - eyes wide, mouth gaping, hand stock-still on Cassian's cheek before he slowly pulled it away - for several minutes. Eventually, Cassian had realized what his best friend's obvious confusion meant - it was as much of a sign as he'd be getting from Az, but he knew the male well enough to know that it was just as good as him saying, _I don't love you like that Cassian, I thought we were just blowing off some steam_ \- and bolted out of the room.

Azriel had called his name, but Cassian hadn't wanted to hear it. He didn't want an apology from Az - it was his own fault, after all, for not keeping his feelings in check. Cassian had just wanted to get the hell out of there. They'd been in his bed, in his bedroom, and he'd left Azriel there, calling his name, as he'd run out of the place like it was on fire.

Definitely humiliating.)

_They wouldn't just leave me here,_ Cassian repeats to himself. _We're a family. Family doesn't just abandon each other._

He hates the shaky feeling that's come over him. Hates how _afraid_ he is. He hasn't felt like this since he was a child, long before he met Rhys, long before he decided to get what he needed, no matter how shitty it made him feel.

Cassian has kept his head on straight for some of the most atrocious things the world has to offer - one doesn't climb the ranks of the Night Court's army without learning to keep calm under pressure. Why this is sending him into such a... panic, he doesn't know. It shouldn't be, though, he knows that much. He's been captured before, once or twice, but never like this.

Never after he was with Rhys.

-§-

They don't bother searching the building themselves. They winnow inside, as close to Cassian as they can, and thanks to the wards, it lands them in a hallway that seems to go on without end on either side of them.

The scent of blood and dirt is thick, and mixed with the rotting stench of death that they have all become so accustomed to. It sends a flash of ice-cold terror down Azriel's spine, and he picks up his pace. They all know Cassian's scent, though, and they follow it right to him.

The smell of blood has never made him nauseous like this before.

They don't see anyone on their way. This could be a good thing, but it doesn't account for the way that Mor starts jumping at shadows (not Azriel's, just their own, ghostly shapes on the floor and the walls on either side of them, created by the blazing torches that adorn the walls every six feet or so), or that Amren draws her blade, holding it up at her side, like it's just there to make her feel better.

Azriel's shadows do have an answer for this, though. _Ennoth_ , they hiss to him. _That's his name._

"Rhys," Az murmurs. It comes out barely a breath off of his lips. Once Rhys turns to look at him (Az ignores how wide Rhys's eyes are, the way that his hands are shaking), he says, gesturing around vaguely, in a way that he hopes says, _This whole place, this entire problem, all of this together_ , "Ennoth."

Rhys's eyes widen further. He knows perfectly well what that means.

_Everyone,_ Rhys whispers into their minds, opening up a channel for all of them together. _Ennoth is the -_

_The jackass responsible for this?_ Mor snaps.

Rhys slows his pace to fall behind Az and stand next to Mor. He slips an arm around her shoulders. She relaxes just enough that Az turns around again, leading them forward.

_He's a jackass that can drive people out of their minds with fear,_ Rhys explains. _That's why we were all so messed up at that cabin - he spent enough time there that his magic was in the air._

Behind them, Amren snorts. _No wonder._ She pauses, and when she continues, she sounds more serious. _He may not be here, then. We could just be feeling his magic._

_If he is here, he certainly won't want to go a few rounds with us,_ Az answers, feeling emboldened by the explanation. His hands are starting to shake, too, but he knows it isn't really him. _He'll be taken care of._

_You want to be the one to do it, Azriel?_ Rhys asks. He's not being sarcastic.

Az doesn't have an answer for him. He waits a beat too long to reply, and then changes the subject altogether. _The fears he's playing off of are real, though. So it is things that we're afraid of, but it's not actually been triggered by anything but his magic._

_It's a great time to do some self-analysis, I guess._ Mor's humor falls flat, but she's not wrong.

Az is pretty sure that that's supposed to be a jab at him, but he ignores it.

_Even if it is a jab_ , his shadows remind him, _it isn't like she's wrong. You should probably take the advice._

Azriel doesn't bother snarking back at them. If he offends them, he'll be hearing about it for a while, and he doesn't really need that right now.

The only thing he really needs right now is Cassian, both to hold him and take him home and then yell at him.

_We have to find him._

Azriel walks even faster. He feels more than hears the others speed up to match him.

-§-

When they find him, Cassian is hanging from the ceiling. His wings have been run all the way through with a pair of ash arrows, and they're stuck to the wall behind him.

Something inside Azriel comes freakishly close to snapping. He's never thought of himself as having a fire inside him - he's not like Cassian is, burning and ready to bring the world alight in the name of those that he loves - but he idly wonders if he could be.

Azriel has always thought of himself as smoke, as a cold wind following after the open flame that is the male that he loves, but he wonders if he could be that for Cassian. Just long enough to save him, to get him home, to see that light in his eyes again.

(Az has never thought about himself like that. He's never considered himself to be the kind of male who could do something out of love, raw and strong and passionate and messy, instead of out of the desperate need to protect, to act, to strike with a blade-like efficiency. But he would like to think that he could. He would like to be capable of that. He wants to, desperately. To be capable of something like that. Of loving someone that much.

He thinks he very well might be, if the ache in his chest, the tingling in his fingers, the anger in his heart, are any indication.)

Cassian is shaking like a leaf, his teeth chattering so loudly that Azriel could hear it down the hall from the room that they find him in. He's shivering, and even in the low light, Azriel's shadows tell him that Cassian's both naked as the day he was born and covered in ice cold water.

These people, whoever the hell they are, clearly weren't doing this to get something out of Rhys. They were doing it to torture them, to show them how vulnerable they can be.

Behind him, Mor growls. "We have to get him down."

Az doesn't have to turn to look at her to know that she's glancing between Cassian's limp body (he hasn't moved, even to acknowledge their presence - Az doesn't know if it's possible for someone to shiver like that if they aren't even conscious, but he's starting to want to find out) and the door directly across from him. There's a good forty feet between the wall that Cassian is up against and that door - the chamber is a large one, the floor covered in nice rugs that Az's boots sink into, and even though it's barely lit, he can tell that what it is currently being used for is far from it's original purpose.

Mor is right. The ones that did this could come back at any time. They definitely know that the Inner Circle is there - the Inner Circle made quite the entrance, winnowing to a nearby forest and flying the rest of the way there - and plenty of them made a break for it as they saw the four of them coming.

Rhys had only shaken his head at Amren's questioning glance, shouting to be heard over the wind. "Let them go!"

Az knows why, too. The ones they want, if they are worth anything at all, will have stayed. The sizable force of Illyrians that'll be here shortly, having been ordered up from the camps by Rhys just before they left, will deal with them should the Inner Circle leave without seeing anything.

Az has always been ready for the fight. He's always been a weapon - a blade sharpened to perfection, even more so than the daggers at his waist - and he's always been ready to put himself to use for the High Lord that he serves. He's always been more than willing to do what is necessary to protect his people, his friends, those he loves.

Part of him, though, has always craved the release of a battle. He has always wanted it, to feel the thrill of the fight, to feel the rush of a victory. He's always imagined that it's what makes him less human than the others - they get caught up in it, too, he's seen it, but he's never known any of them to lose themselves in it the way that he has. They've always put everything else first. They've always shown it, in every moment that they can. They've always been able to snap themselves out of it.

Maybe he's just never had the opportunity to show it himself - this is certainly a new feeling.

For maybe the first time he can actually remember, he doesn't want to fight. The burning in his middle, it isn't a desire to grab the nearest member of the guilty party and make them bleed (at least, mostly).

He just wants to get Cassian down, off that wall, and get him home.

And then berate him for being such an absolute idiot, but maybe he should wait to do that until Cassian is healed enough to make sense of the earful he'll be getting.

"Yeah, Mor, you're right." Rhys's voice is hoarse when he speaks. Az's shadows confirm that he hasn't pulled his eyes off of Cassian either. "He needs a healer."

Amren clears her throat. "Get him down," she orders. "Mor and I will send a message back to the city to make sure that the healers we'll need are available."

No one argues with the second-in-command. Mor and Amren move to stand a few feet away from where Rhys and Cassian are. The two males unfurl their wings, stretching out just enough to be ready to fly. They push off the ground in identical twin motions.

Rhys and Az are at Cassian's level in seconds. He's not far enough from the ground that it'll be too challenging to get him down, which is a good thing. The smell of blood and dirt hits Az even harder so close to him, and it's like a stab through his center.

Without a word (the look-worth-a-thousand-words that Rhys practically throws at him isn't words, so it doesn't count), Rhys lowers himself to get the ropes around Cassian's ankles.

As soon as Rhys touches him, though, Cassian jerks forward, eyes wide and filled with fear. It hurts him to move so quickly - he chokes on a sob, and there are tears running down his face.

Az knows that he should move forward, he should do something, but he's frozen in place. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he isn't capable of the kind of love that Cassian needs. Maybe he isn't really what Cassian wants.

Rhys is back up next to Az in an instant, hands out in an apologetic gesture. "I didn't mean to startle you, Cassian," he says, voice barely a whisper.

Cassian looks back and forth between them unseeingly. Rhys hums in understanding, then holds out his hand and bright, white light dances across his finger tips. Cassian flinches away at it's sudden brightness, his eyes having gotten used to the dark, and Rhys dims it down.

"Sorry, Cass." Rhys looks a little sheepish in the low light. "You can open your eyes now."

Cassian does. He glances around for a few seconds before his eyes finally land on Rhys. "You're just in time, Rhysie."

"I'm glad to hear that," Rhysand chuckles. Some of the color returns to his face at Cassian's joke. Even Mor and Amren, still busy with the message back to Velaris, look up and laugh. "We're going to get you out of this, alright? I don't think it's going to be easy, and it's certainly not going to feel good" - Rhys's eyes dart back and forth between the twin arrows piercing Cassian's wings and he winces - "but we're going to."

Cassian nods. His eyes land on Azriel then, causing the shadowsinger's breath to catch in his throat. "I trust you," Cassian breathes. His voice is so hoarse it's barely there at all. His hair is unruly and greasy. It's loose, the way that it was a few mornings ago before everything went to hell, and it falls around his shoulders.

"That's good." Rhys's eyes fall to the ropes around Cassian's ankles. "I'm going to get your feet free, okay?"

Cassian nods again, gulping. His lips move as if he's trying to say something, but nothing comes out.

_Does it hurt him to speak?_

Rhys lowers himself once again. This time, when he touches Cassian's ankle, Cassian doesn't flinch. Rhys sets to work on the rope with a knife from his belt, and even though it's _Rhys_ , who Cassian has known for so long, their _brother_ , Cassian leans his head back and swallows hard.

Az flies closer to him, blocking the view of Rhys and, more importantly, Rhys's knife. (Az suspects that's the problem - there are plenty of cuts on Cassian's skin, some bleeding like they were put there only minutes before the rest of the Inner Circle arrived. Of course it would upset him to see a knife so close to his skin, right after all of this has happened to him, even if it is Rhys.)

Cassian raises his eyebrows at Azriel, but doesn't say anything.

"You know, you really are foolish sometimes." Az's tone is very matter-of-fact. He's proud of himself for not launching into the monologue he has prepared for Cassian.

Cassian just narrows his eyes and scoffs. It turns into a cough that folds his body in half, tugging on the ropes holding his limbs. He sobs and whimpers in the same breath.

_His wings,_ Az realizes. _That has to be hurting his wings._

He's still coughing, though, so Az puts his hands squarely on Cassian's hips, holding him up to take as much pressure from his wings and wrists as he can. Once Cassian calms, his breathing slowly evening back out, he looks up at Az through heavily lidded eyes. "Thanks," he croaks.

There's a spatter of blood on his lips.

"It's no trouble," Az says softly. He wants to wait to tell him, wants to tell him when he can put his arms around him without fear of messing with his ribs, wants to tell him when they're safe and at home, but he also wants Cassian to stop looking at him this way, like he doesn't trust him. Like he doesn't even want him so close to him.

_Oh, what the hell?_ Azriel stifles a scoff at himself. _Cauldron boil me, I'm worse than Rhys._

"It's no trouble," he repeats, his voice even lower. Cassian narrows his eyes again, exhaling through his nose and opening his mouth to say something. Before he can, though, Az whispers, "It's the least I can do for the male that I love."

Cassian's eyes widen. A viciously pissed-off look takes over his face, coming through even over the pain etched there. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Az actually flinches at the malice in his voice, but he doesn't back down. _What the hell?_ "What are you talking about?"

"I don't want you to lie to me because you feel bad for me, you prick." Even as he speaks, the fight drains out of him. He goes limp, and Az tightens his grip on his hips to keep him from hurting himself even more. Tears shine in Cassian's eyes as he seethes, "I don't want your _pity_."

A string of curses puts itself together in Az's mind. It's an incomprehensible jumbling of every swear word he knows in Illyrian and the common tongue and half a dozen of the other languages he's learned to speak. For some reason, the shadows swirling up around his ears seem to be in a sort of we-told-you-so mood, and he fights the urge to swat at them, if only because he would have to let go of the male he's holding up.

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to explain himself to Cassian, but what somehow works its way out of his mouth is this: "I don't pity you, Cass."

Cassian's eyebrows fly up again. "So you've suddenly made up your mind that you're not just using me, then?"

The remark is biting, but he absolutely deserves it. He can see it in Cassian's eyes. It's supposed to be more bait than bite - it's more meant to make him step up or back down than to hurt him, even though it stings a little. Azriel knows Cassian well enough to see how much he's hurt him, even if Cassian's trying to hide it.

They've both had a solid eight days to turn that memory over in their heads. Az has been climbing the walls while they've been looking for Cassian, but at least he's had something to do with himself. Cassian's been stuck here - from the looks of it, they've tortured him, which makes whatever it is in Az's chest burn hotter - without that, alone, and Az can't imagine how much Cassian has suffered since he's seen him.

"I never thought you would feel the way that I feel, Cass," Az begins. Cassian opens his mouth, probably to argue but Az squeezes his hip as much as he dares. "Just - just listen, okay?"

Cassian's mouth opens again, his eyes burning even though the rest of him must be in an incredible amount of pain. After a second, he relents, snapping his lips together and shooting Az a dark look.

"I didn't want to make you feel like you owed me anything, okay? I didn't think that you would ever look at me the same way, and I didn't know how to tell you that."

The air feels heavier with his confession, and there's something in the way that Cassian is looking at him that he has never seen before, not on the other male or on anyone else, and he doesn't quite know what to do with it.

Azriel lowers his voice even more, and his gaze drops to Cassian’s jawline, where there is a horribly purple bruise beginning to bloom. "I went after you, that morning."

"You were too slow." Cassian's tone isn't harsh. The glint in his eyes - the one that makes Azriel's knees weak when it catches him off guard sometimes - is back, and the corners of his mouth are tilting up.

Az chuckles before he can help himself. "Yes, I suppose that I should've moved a little bit faster."

"You can make it up to me."

He's just teasing, but Az can sense that it's more than that. More bait. Cassian wants to see if he'll back down when it comes to the long game, and he won't.

Azriel's been playing the long game with Cassian for decades.

"I will." Az promises. His voice is low, tone serious. "I'll make it up to you."

Cassian nods. He doesn't interject a line there, doesn't say something half-sensible about the _making up_ part, and Azriel thinks that that means that Cassian understands how serious he is.

Rhys is back up next to him then, an equally serious look on his face. "I got your legs free. My magic is supporting you" - Rhys coughs, glancing at Az and the placement of Az's hands with all the grace of the twelve-year-old male that he used to be - "for the moment. We need to get your wings free."

"Okay," Cassian rasps, taking a breath. "I'm tired."

Rhys, to his credit, blows a breath out through his nose. Whatever yelling or shouting that he looks like he wants to let out never comes, and he manages to stay calm. His expression doesn't change as he speaks. "You need to stay awake as long as you can, okay?"

Cassian nods slowly. He gingerly leans his head back against the wall, exhaling. He's starting to look paler than he did before.

Rhys snaps his fingers, and soft black pants appear on Cassian's lower half. The waist comes up around where Az's hands are, but he still doesn't move them. Rhys, graceful High Lord that he is, blinks really hard and moves on.

"I'm going to get these arrows out of the wall. I don't want to pull them out of your wings" - all three of the Illyrians wince - "until we can do it without risking making it worse, so we have to get you down."

Azriel glances over at Rhys, who's managing to rival Cassian when it comes to being pale. Az doesn't want to know how he himself looks, if even Rhys is starting to look like that.

"I'll get his wings, you" - Rhys moves his hands in a way that Az interprets as _keep him still_ \- "and then I get his hands free and we'll" - Rhys moves his hands again in a series of motions that Az thinks means something like _we'll get him down and then get the hell out of here_ \- "alright?"

Rhys moves the few feet necessary to hover in front of the arrow holding Cassian's left wing to the wall behind him. He hangs there for a moment, studying the angle, his brow furrowed.

Cassian turns his head to see what Rhys is doing. "Is he going to get on with it?" he mumbles under his breath.

Az clicks his tongue, snaps his wings out in a way that is meant to be louder. He waits a beat for Rhys to look over, and when Rhys does, Az slips his left hand from Cassian's waist. There's a hum that Az more feels than hears as Rhys doubles down the magic holding Cassian up, and then Rhys looks back to Cassian's wing.

_He's trying to give you some privacy,_ Azriel's shadows hiss. He ignores them.

Az opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it, unsure. He cups Cassian's cheek in his palm, taps a finger against his temple, insistently but gingerly, until Cassian turns his head back to face Azriel. Cassian raises his eyebrows expectantly, but Az has nothing to say. He doesn't like this feeling of not knowing what to do or say.

His shadows have an idea, though. _What does Cassian do when you're hurt?_

Azriel thinks about it for a moment. The only thing that comes to mind is Cassian leaning over him, considerably younger, whispering to him as the older leaders of the warcamp tried to heal him.

Apparently, he's on the right track. _Good_ , his shadows reply. _That's it. Keep him talking._

"What do you want to do when we get home?" he asks, voice low but tone conversational. That's what Cassian does when there's something wrong with him.

The other male thinks about this for a moment. His eyes are shiny with tears, full of fear - not the Ennoth kind, but the kind that comes with tense muscles and shaky breathing, because Cassian knows that getting his wings free is going to hurt. It must already hurt, because there's a sheen of sweat across his forehead. "Well, I think I might - "

Cassian is cut off by his own scream.

It must've drowned out the sound of whatever Rhys had to do to get the arrow out of the wall. Az hadn't been quite ready for it, but he inches closer to Cassian. With the hand that's still resting on Cassian's hip, he moves his fingers in circles over Cassian's skin, and with his other, he guides Cassian's head to rest on his shoulder.

"Cass, shh, _Cass_ , shh, I need you to listen to me." Az runs his hand through Cassian's hair. The male sobbing in his arms doesn't calm at all, and Az holds him tighter. "I know, I know," he soothes, hating the rattle of Cassian's sobs in his chest, "just take a deep breath for me."

A few seconds pass, and Cassian buries his face in Azriel's neck. He lets out a shaky breath. The tension goes out of Cassian's body, and he begins to shake even harder than before. Az rests his left hand on the back of Cassian's neck, drawing circles on his skin. "You're alright now."

When Cassian nods into his neck, Az's shadows come to a conclusion: _Reassure him. That helps._

_How do I do that?_ Azriel snaps back at them. _What do I say to him?_

There's no response.

Rather than groan or toss one of his blades at the door across the room from him and Cassian, Azriel exhales slowly. Cassian always knows what to say. When it comes to this sort of thing, Azriel, however, is completely useless.

That's why Cassian and Az are a great team. Because they fill in the blanks for each other. Az isn't Cassian, he doesn't know what to say all the time. He doesn't know what to say now, when he really needs to.

_Stop being so miserable, you asshole, and_ talk _to him,_ his shadows interject. _He's been in love with you for_ how _many years? He's in love with you because you know what to say to_ him _, you know_ him _, so say something!_

Az doesn't respond. (Sometimes, they remind him of what Rhys's mother would say - sometimes they take on that tone, that _what do you think you're doing?_ that is meant to be a _get your ass in gear!_ , and, just the same, he doesn't like to admit when they're right.)

Azriel squeezes Cassian to him a little bit more. "I've got you," he promises. Cassian makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds more like an agreement than a sob (but it definitely still sounds a bit like a sob), and Az hushes him gently, the way that Cassian has when Az is left too out of it by a nightmare to make sense of anything else but the male he's in love with.

When Az glances over, Rhys is bracing Cassian's wing with his magic. It's the same invisible magic helping Az hold Cassian up. Cassian whines into Az's neck when Rhys tries to let go of the arrow. It must've turned or shifted in his wing when Rhys moved it, which just makes Az shudder to think about. (Az's wings are aching just thinking about the pain that Cassian must be in.) There's no telling what getting Cassian to the floor will do to his already-damaged wings if Rhys letting go of the arrow hurts Cassian - the arrows could jostle even more or shift again from the movement.

Az looks over at Rhys, trying to meet his gaze over Cassian's head, and finds Rhys already busy at work.

Rhys is on the problem that Az noticed, snapping his fingers and then opening his hand to reveal a strand of darkness, smoke and shadow swirling around it. His hands brush over Cassian's wings (and Cassian whimpers into Az's shoulder), and Az figures that Rhys is probably just trying to decide on the best way to brace the wing. Rhys curses under his breath in the Illyrian tongue. (Az knows good and well what he means, and it is so far from the grace expected of a High Lord that Cassian actually huffs a laugh. Az's shadows inform him that Mor and Amren's heads snap up at the words.) Rhys is still for a few seconds, and then he's right back at it. He wraps it around the arrow, which makes Cassian swear under his breath.

"Rhys knows what he's doing, Cass, it's okay." Az tries not to curl his fingers or tighten his grip. He doesn't want to hurt Cassian. The amount of pain that he already must be in - Az has seen Cassian like this a handful of times, but this is by far the worst, and Az doesn't want to know what was done to him for Cassian to look like this - is unimaginable. Azriel doesn't want to make it any worse than it already must be.

Cassian sobs again, less harshly than before, but there's still a whimper that follows - from the bruising that Az is trying hard to avoid with as he rests his hands on Cassian's waist (Cassian's torso is covered in all kinds of dark, mean-looking bruises and bloody, some still bleeding, cuts and slashes), Azriel is pretty sure that Cassian has to have a few ribs broken, at the very minimum - and Az turns his head to press his lips to Cassian's temple. He doesn't know how else to get his attention.

_Draw his attention,_ Azriel's shadows advise. _The more he focuses on what Rhysand is doing, the more it will hurt._

Az keeps his voice low as he whispers, "Focus on me." Cassian nods, and Az feels something wet drop onto his shoulder. _He's crying,_ Az realizes.

He hates that. Decides that no one, nothing, is ever allowed to make the male in his arms suffer again. Not while he has something to say about it.

A few seconds later, Cassian calms a bit. The shaking subsides some more, and then he inhales deeply. "He's got to do the other one," Cassian finally rasps. "It's going to hurt."

"Yes," Az replies. He isn't going to sugar-coat the situation for Cassian - Cassian doesn't want his pity, not even like this, and Az refuses to insult him like that. But still, he needs to reassure him somehow. "I'll be right here with you, though." He's not sure if that'll help, if that's enough to make Cassian feel even the smallest bit better about what's coming, but that's what he's always needed to hear. To make things worse, there's no telling what kinds of things Ennoth has been putting into his head. "And it's Rhys, okay? Rhys would never - Rhys would never hurt you. But if we don't get you down, it's going to be a lot worse."

There's a pause, but Cassian breathes out slowly. "I know." He relaxes against Az even more, and then whispers, "That _thing_ 's just been in my head, and I can't - I can't - "

There's a rustle as Rhys flies around behind Az, heading to get started on Cassian's other wing. It cuts Cassian off - he knows what's coming. Az catches Rhys's eye as he starts to hover in front of Cassian's wing. _'No_ ,' Az mouths as Rhys's hands reach forward. ' _Give me a minute_.'

Rhys nods, mouths his assent. Az doesn't look away until Rhys folds his arms over his chest.

"It's okay. We're here now, you're safe."

"I can still feel him, Az," Cassian whispers, his words barely a breath on Az's skin. His voice shakes. "It's like he's _here_ , just farther away than before. What if he comes back? What if - oh, _Cauldron_ , what if - ?"

Cassian gulps, and then jerks forward an inch or two. His body somehow ends up slamming into the wall behind him. The look in his eyes tells Az that it wasn't his choice. Az has a fraction of a second to process this before Cassian is gasping for breath all of the sudden. His eyes are distant, like he's a million miles away, and his whole body seems to be vibrating all of the sudden. His teeth chatter, and he's sobbing again and then -

"He's _coming_!"

-§-

Cassian is in more pain than he's ever been in his life, but that's the least of his problems.

Ennoth is coming, he's coming and he's going to hurt the people he loves. He's going to do unspeakable things to the people that Cassian loves, far worse than what Cassian has been through already, and no, no, _no_ \- he can't let that happen.

He can't let that monster hurt them.

"You - you have to _go_ \- he's coming, _you can't be here_ , they'll - he'll - "

The air around him crackles a bit, almost humming, but he barely notices - it's magic he knows, it's magic that means _safety_ and _home_ , and it should calm him. It doesn't, even as it holds him up, keeps the full weight of his body off of his exhausted wings. He's so familiar with it (not to mention how out of it he is, given the pain and the raw terror warring for control in his body) that he hardly realizes it's there.

"Cass, _Cass_ , it's okay," a voice says, half-yelling, trying to get his attention. A twin set of pressures - hands, careful, kind ones - disappear from either side of his waist and travel up his torso to his shoulders, then press gently against either side of his face. "Cassian, I'm _right_ _here_."

"No, no, no," Cassian argues, hating how foggy his mind is, hating how easy it is for him to relax into those hands, at the sound of that voice. He needs to tell them to leave, to get out. To leave him behind. And he can't, because he's so out of it. _But I have to try_ , he tells himself over the roaring in his ears, over the pounding of his heart, _I have to try_.

"We're not going to leave you, Cass, we're not." The voice - it's Az, who he left because his heart was broken, who's been standing here for a few minutes (the last few minutes are foggy to Cassian all of the sudden, trapped as he is by the terror flooding through his body, but Az has been there for all of it, and that somehow manages to calm the roaring in Cassian's ears just enough that he can hear the male in front of him), holding on to Cassian for dear life - leaves no room for debate.

Az has made up his mind, and Cassian knows better than anyone that he's nothing short of an unmovable object when he takes that tone of voice.

"We're not leaving you here, brother," Rhys adds. He sounds a few feet away, but he's close enough that Cassian can hear him without Rhys raising his voice. "We swore that to each other, didn't we?" He pauses a beat, as if he's waiting on Cassian to respond, but Cassian is still looking for the words to agree with him when Rhys continues speaking. "We _are_ going to get you out of here."

Cassian still shakes his head again. "Ennoth - he's - he'll hurt you - _no_ \- leave - I don't want you to - " He's heaving for air and coughing at the same time, but there's no reasonable explanation for why he's struggling to breathe. He's pretty sure that he was fine a few minutes ago. Wasn't he? The suddenness of his current state - what he knows it must've been brought on by - only serves to send him into further panic.

Az's thumbs brush back and forth over Cassian's cheeks, brushing away tears that Cassian hadn't noticed before. "Everything's fine, alright? You're perfectly safe. I promise you, nothing is going to hurt you." There's a conviction in his voice, soft and murmuring as it is, and Cassian wants so badly to believe him. "Rhys and I are right here, Mor and Amren are just below us, and we won't let anything happen to you."

"They'll - " He chokes on a sob, desperately squirming back and forth as he tries to get some air into his lungs; Azriel's hands disappear from his face and land on his waist, holding him still. He knows why, too - his shoulders and his wings are aching, burning, throbbing, and all of that movement was not a good idea, but he's so afraid that he can't manage berating himself for it. When he finally catches his breath (well, catches his breath enough that he can get some words out), he cries out, "He's going to _hurt_ you, Az."

One of Az's hands moves from his hip to run up and down his chest. "Breathe for me, in and out." Az's fingertips move as Cassian breathes, guiding his breathing, trying to calm him. "Just like that. See? You're alright."

There's a pause as Cassian regains control over his body. It takes a minute or so for him to get it together, but eventually, he does, and Az manages to quiet his protests about them staying long enough to get Cassian off the wall. "We're not leaving you behind, Cass," he murmurs. The fingers still resting on Cassian's hip draw small circles into his skin, pressing just enough to keep his attention. "Me and you still need to have a talk, Cassian, and dying isn't going to get you out of this one."

"It was working pretty well, you have to admit," Cassian finally smiles. He feels more drained than he ever has in his life - even more than he did after the blood rite, even more than after the last battle of the war with Hybern - and the energy to laugh is something he doesn't have. But still, as always with Az, he manages a smile.

The fog recedes from his mind like it was sucked out. He holds Azriel's gaze, and he's downright lethargic, but Az is there and he's smiling at him and he's holding him, and none of this is perfect, but it could be a lot worse. Somehow, the shadows hissing and curling around Az's arms and whirling around his ears even manage to calm Cassian - they reach towards him every few minutes, even brushing over his cheek in a way that he takes as an assurance: _Everything will be alright between the two of you._ At least the shadows are on his side.

They are the Night Court, after all. There are certainly worse things to have on his side.

Rhys is suddenly hovering beside Azriel, his wings flapping slowly behind him. He rests a hand on Az's shoulder and a look passes between the two of them. "It's time, brother," he says. The look on his face is more determined than grim. Cassian notices that his eyes flick over Az's shoulder towards the door, where Cassian is sure that Ennoth is on his way.

The look on Rhys's face shifts when Az nods in understanding. Azriel's hands tighten on Cassian, and Cassian knows what it means.

"It's okay, Rhys," he breathes, slightly shaking his head. "If you don't get me off of this wall, we're never going to be able to get home."

Rhys considers this for a few seconds. "I'm still sorry." He pauses briefly, shakes his head, and then meets Cassian's eyes. "It's going to hurt, but it'll be fast. And then we'll winnow out of here and then back home."

Cassian gives them a tremulous smile. His body is already tensing in anticipation. "It's okay. I'm glad it's the two of you, if it's got to be done."

"It'll always be us," Az promises. One of his hands reaches up and smooths back Cassian's hair. His voice sounds a little distracted as he runs his knuckles down the side of Cassian's face. "Always."

Rhys puts a hand on Cassian's shoulder. He meets Cassian's eyes, and the look on his face is nothing short of completely serious. "Always."

"Always." Cassian tilts the corners of his mouth upwards.

Rhys doesn't wait any longer. He nods again and moves towards Cassian's right wing.

Cassian knows that Rhys won't warn him. There won't be any on-the-count-of-three - Rhys knows better. They all do. It was part of the bare-minimum medical training that they received during their training.

The muscles in Cassian's body (the ones he can still feel anyway) tense up further. It's going to hurt. Knowing what's coming has a sharp pain stabbing through him. Cassian can feel his lip quivering.

"Cass," Az drawls. His voice is a rumble in his chest, which is pressed against Cassian's in a way that must be telling Mor that Cassian is buying her dinner (what Cassian was thinking when he accepted Mor's bet - that he buy her dinner if Az really was in love with him, and she buy him dinner and as many drinks as it took for him to forget the other male's name if he wasn't - is far beyond his weakened state, but if he had the energy, he would definitely be cursing himself for being so stupid as to take on a bet with Mor). "I want you to focus on me, alright?"

This is not a new side of Azriel. Cassian has seen this side of him before, only a few times, but enough that he isn't totally thrown. This is the Az that he wakes up to if he has a nightmare, or when Mor has a nightmare, or if something goes so wrong that one of the members of the Inner Circle is injured. This side of Az is gentle and calm and kind, and the steeliness in his eyes, as Cassian has learned, is directed towards those responsible. It is one of the few times, Cassian thinks, that Az may see himself as more than a weapon.

Blades, Cassian can confirm from experience, do not hold your hand, or run their fingers through your hair, or look into your eyes and promise that everything will be alright. The male that he is in love with is certainly as sharp as one of the weapons he wields so well, but there has always been love in those hands, in those eyes.

He knows it's probably got something to do with the exhaustion that seems to weigh him down even more, even beyond Azriel and Rhys's magic holding him up, or the pain or the cold that has seeped into his very bones, but Cassian vaguely wonders if maybe love could be a weapon, too. If that might be why Az is so much of both - so sharp and fierce and capable of bringing the world to it's knees if he felt like it, but so careful with him, so careful with the people that he loves, so strong and good and always there, even if it's only the quiet presence that Cassian has come to rely on so much.

"When we get home," Az begins, "I think we'll get you cleaned up, and then we'll get in the bed, and we will stay there for.." He tilts his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe three days?"

Cassian doesn't get a chance to respond. There's a blinding pain all of the sudden, sharp and shooting all the way from the tip of his wing to the center of his body, and he's sobbing and gasping for air. Azriel's hands are on him, and his mouth is at Cassian's ear.

Rhys swears a few feet away. The pain comes back but it's stronger this time, and Cassian feels himself tumble over the brink.

It's dark, but the pain is gone, and Az's hands and mouth and voice are still there.

_It's done now, you're fine, I've got you._

It's like a heartbeat, like a smooth and steady rhythm lulling him to sleep. _I've got you. I've got you. I've got you._

And then it's darker and Cassian feels his body give way to that blackness. It's familiar. This isn't the first time he's passed out like this.

But it is the first time that he hears Az whisper a barely-there _I love you_ as he does.

-§-

"Is he awake?"

Azriel shakes his head. He tries to tell Rhys that, no, Cassian's completely out, but even as his mouth moves, the words don't come. His attention is still locked on the male in his arms.

Rhys understands, this, though, and he pushes off thin air (what they would do without their Illyrian strength, Az doesn't know, but he's pretty sure that he doesn't want to) and heads for the ropes securing Cassian's wrists. It's the only thing holding his body weight besides Az's grip and Rhys's magic, and Az is careful to hold on as tightly as he can without hurting him.

He doesn't want Cassian to fall, after all.

While Rhys saws away at the ropes around Cassian's right wrist (it'll take longer, considering how careful Rhys has to be to avoid hurting Cassian further), Az manages to slip one of his arms below Cassian's knees. He turns his body so that it's Cassian's side pressing against his chest. He's holding him the way that he's seen newly married males carry their brides across the threshold of their new homes. The arm that isn't supporting Cassian's legs goes around his back. Cassian's frame is so large that Azriel's fingers barely make it to Cassian's other hip, the one that isn't resting against Az's stomach.

He's so strong, this male who has won over Az, who has somehow convinced the spymaster that he is capable of being more, that he is not only a weapon but a male with breath in his lungs and a beating heart in his chest to match. Cassian is stronger than Az is - Azriel might be cold and meticulous and capable of doing things so wrenching that even their High Lord can't stomach them, but that must be done for the good of their people, but Cassian has a ferocity in him that nothing can chase off. The fire inside his heart is nothing compared to the cold metal of Az's blades, the freezing nights of his horrendous childhood, and Az can't help but think that somehow Cassian has made him melt just a bit around the edges.

"I still can't believe you flew off like that, you absolute idiot," Az whispers into Cassian's hair. He's well aware that Cassian probably can't hear him, but somehow the silence is unnerving - he's become far too used to Cassian's usual chatter and unyielding attempts to get him to go back and forth in conversation. Cassian has sat beside him and talked for hours - when he's injured, when he's having trouble sleeping, when he gets back from difficult and draining missions, that's Cassian's first line of defense: the incessant talking, the never-ending stream of words that keeps him grounded firmly in the reality before him - and that is exactly what he will do for Cassian.

"I mean, of course, this isn't your fault. I'll find the assholes responsible, you know that, and they will not enjoy the company that Rhys and Mor and Amren and I provide."

Az ignores the way that he tightens his hold on Cassian just a little. There's a reason he has to find the people responsible, after all, and there's something inside him that is telling him never to let Cassian out of his sight again. That's foolish - Cassian is the strongest male he knows, bright and unyielding and more powerful than even he knows - but he can't seem to calm the instinct. He'll deal with it later.

"But I still don't think that you should've run off like that," he continues. He looks up to find Rhys now returning to his level, folding Cassian's right arm (covered in bruises and scratches and a considerably nasty looking ring around his wrist that makes Az's stomach turn over) over his torso. Az nods at him, and Rhys heads for Cassian's left wrist. "It was a bit foolish. You sort of caught me off guard, you know, you could've given me a chance to tell you how I feel."

There's a cough, and his gaze lurches down to his shoulder, where Cassian's head is resting against him. "You're really going to lecture an unconscious male, are you?"

Cassian's voice is raspy, barely there, somewhere between a sob and a wheeze, but Az decides it's the best thing he's ever heard.

"Did Rhys already get my - ?" Cassian chokes on his words. "My wing?"

Az nods, then realizes that Cassian probably can't see that from the angle that his head is at, and answers, "Mm-hmm. And you're going to be fine."

"That's good," Cassian breathes. His breath is cold against Az's skin, which says something - Az is almost always freezing, and if Cassian's even colder than he is...

Az holds Cassian tighter against him. He has to find a way to warm him up, but he can't do anything until they get him to the ground.

Rhys is there, then, easing Cassian's left arm down around Az's neck. Cassian exhales through his teeth - it has to hurt, Az imagines, and he brushes a kiss over Cassian's temple to soothe him as best he can - before relaxing as Rhys brushes his hand over his bicep.

"Putting some of my High Lordliness to work," Rhys says by way of explanation. Normally, he wouldn't dare talk over Cassian's head like this, but Az is pretty sure that Cassian won't mind - based on the way he's breathing, he's probably half-asleep on Az's shoulder. Again, to Az, Rhys sighs, "It's the least I can do."

(Az can't imagine the burden on Rhys's shoulders. Sure, he helps protect the people and the court that he loves, but it's Rhys's responsibility. Both his birthright and a weight that likely never goes away. Seeing Cassian hurt like this, one of their own... As much as it hurts Az, makes him want to do something that Cassian and Rhys and Mor would certainly never approve of... There's no telling how it makes Rhys feel.

Besides, it's more Az's fault than Rhys's anyway.)

"It's about time he makes himself useful," Cassian chuckles into Az's neck. His words slur - he's clearly exhausted - but it brings the tiniest of smiles to Az's face nonetheless.

Rhys certainly hears Cassian's comment - his eyes are suddenly a little brighter, clearly glad that Cassian's got the strength to be joking around - and Az is fairly sure that Rhys also notices the look on his face, too.

Rhys's eyebrows are sort of hanging out in his hairline, if that's any indication, and his eyes, bright as they are, are about as wide as the saucers that go with the good china they have in the kitchen.

Rhys shakes his head, a devious smile taking over his face and motions for Az to make his way down to the floor. They fly together, Rhys positioning himself between Az and the door to the room. Az keeps his arms still as his wings flap behind him, doing his damnedest not to jostle Cassian.

"Let's get the hell out of here, shall we?"

Mor's voice somehow manages to be both chipper, shocked, and pissed all at once, and this does not phase Azriel in the slightest. (What does phase him is the lecture that is waiting for him as soon as the healers announce that Cassian will recover, though, because Mor is certainly going to tear him a new one. Her eyes have the same fire as her aunt's, and that manages to comfort Az just a little bit.)

Rhys adjusts the cuffs of his shirt. "I completely agree."

Figuring out how to winnow back to Velaris is a bit of work, considering that Az has to be careful not to move around too much but they need his power to get all of them back. They ultimately winnow just outside the building and into the tree line a few hundred feet away, and then readjust before winnowing into Az's home on the west side of the city. They can head over to the townhouse once Cassian has been stabilized.

The healers are already there, waiting outside his front door. Az doesn't bother shooting Rhys a glare - they had to know where they were going, even if Az has never really liked for anyone outside of their circle to know where he lives. Cassian needs medical attention, and that overrides everything else around him.

_So this is what being in love is like_ , he thinks to himself. _Out in the open_.

-§-

Cassian wakes up slowly.

The sun streams in through curtains that are not his, but are just as familiar as his own, and he's surrounded by a scent that can only be described as _Azriel._

He's never felt so good in his life.

He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that it's real. The slight pain in his side - a couple of broken ribs that are feeling much better than they were a few days ago - is enough to tell him he isn't dreaming. It feels too real.

He also doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Az is still next to him. Az's arms are tight around Cassian's middle, and they're so tangled up that Cassian doesn't want to bother trying to sort it out.

"Good morning, Cass," Az murmurs. Shadows nip at Cassian's ears, at his hair, at his shoulders. "Are you feeling any better?"

The sheets are probably a mess, but Cassian can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he pulls them up around their bodies more, just enough to trap some of their body heat. Azriel’s feet, brushing against Cassian’s near the foot of the bed, are cold enough to have woken both of them up.

Cassian chuckles sleepily. "I'm feeling great." There's a pause, and then he says: "I'm in love after all."

"I hope this person is well worth your affection, then," Az smiles into Cassian's shoulder. "Worthy of your heart."

Cassian just tightens his arms around the other male. "Oh, he is. I'm sure of it."

They don't really decide on it, but they drift back to sleep quickly. After all, Az did say something about spending three days doing absolutely nothing, and Cassian's going to be damned if he passes that up.

Besides, he supposes he deserves something. Being in love is quite the adventure.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
